As a student I could basically wear whatever I wanted, so, for me, every day was Dress Down Friday. Most mornings saw me awaken, panic stricken that I had a lecture in five minutes, falling ungracefully out of bed and then racing around my room like a panicked chicken. Getting dressed would then become a clumsy, ungraceful quasi-aerobic workout as I would simultaneously try to desperately yank a comb through my hair whilst grabbing whatever garment happened to be on the floor and trying desperately to dress and at the same time searching frantically for my keys that always, always seemed to be in the last place I put them.
Getting myself out of the door was less to do with looking good and more to do with making sure all the necessary parts of my anatomy were covered by some form of material. Essentially, the student routine of eat, sleep, library does not lend itself to a particularly glamorous lifestyle. Because unless you are Emma Watson or Lilly Cole or another actress/model who feels earning a squillon dollars and being one of the most beautiful people on the planet is not sufficient enough for general life satisfaction. And thus attends the best University in the country to further shame the rest of us mere mortals who managed to do their A Levels whilst balancing a part time job in the local bakery as opposed to appearing in a billion dollar franchise no one really cares how you look at University. In fact, further to the above protracted rant, why must these celebrities always attend Oxbridge or Ivies? The next headline I would like to see is that Taylor Swift is starting a degree in media studies at Birmingham City University whilst Posh Beckham has received an honorary doctorate from Salford.
Thus, my time at University saw me wear pyjamas poorly masquerading as clothes. Comfort and expediency in dressing was the order of the day. And so my wardrobe of the past three years was decided. However, having a full time job has rather changed this lovely little lifestyle I created for myself. Because working in an office means you have to look presentable. Day in, day out I have to make a conscious effort to look like a civilised human being respectfully entering the working world. This is never really something I had to deal with prior to graduating. At school I wore a uniform and in my intensely conformist sixth form there were obvious, unspoken rules on how to dress which I passionately, violently and enthusiastically set out to destroy. This I accomplished by wearing the most garish and bizarre clothes available in Manchester’s rather limited ‘alternative’ scene. My clothes in those days were mainly defined by what everyone else was not wearing. But at the grand old age of 22, I am not sure green tights and Doc Martins are realistically the way forward. So I find myself, for the first time, having to think about what I am going to wear before I leave the house. I have begun doing scary things, things that previously only my mother did, such as consider the night before what I am going to wear the next day. Sometimes I even place these things lovingly on my door for added ease in the morning.
This being said, I have to admit, it is half past eleven on a Sunday morning and I am writing this still very much in my pyjamas. Clearly, adulthood is still only a part time profession.